


in the end, did it even matter?

by nothingtoseeherefolks



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: 1k words, Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Dark, F/M, Mention of Canon Deaths, Mild Swearing, One Shot, Toxic Relationship, Unhealthy Relationships, Up for interpretation, Victim Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23281450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingtoseeherefolks/pseuds/nothingtoseeherefolks
Summary: This was wrong. He murdered people. He lied. He said he wouldn’t do it again, but in the end, did it even matter?(or, Veronica and J.D. have a late night conversation  and reach the realization that something has changed between them, and maybe some things just can’t be fixed.)Canon compliant. Set after Seventeen but before the breakup.
Relationships: Jason "J. D." Dean/Veronica Sawyer
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	in the end, did it even matter?

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely different than my other stories listed here, but I’ve listened to Heathers so many times these past few weeks that I couldn’t help myself. Enjoy!

Loving him was wrong.

Veronica knew it the moment she heard the gunshots ring through the night’s air; when she felt Ram Sweeney’s heart stop. She knew it when she met J.D.’s father. She probably even had a sneaking suspicion when Heather Chandler died, yet, like the ghost of Heather said, she couldn’t help herself.

He was like a drug. She loved him— _god_ , she _did_ love him more than anything else—and she knew the consequences. She willingly handed him her heart, and he kept it under lock and key.

He lied to her. He manipulated her into killing three people, and maybe that was his own twisted way of loving her back—maybe he didn’t know better—but that didn’t make it right. No, it only made her wrong for loving him. It made her wrong for being complicit. The moment she decided to not call the police, she signed the contract, and climbed aboard this one way ticket to hell.

She couldn’t tell anyone. She knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t—She could hardly survive high school; she wouldn’t last a _minute_ in prison. What would Mom and Dad think of her if they heard her voice from the police station’s telephone line? And she might as well kiss any Ivy League schools goodbye. Everything she has worked for would be over. She was damned if she left him,and damned if she stayed.

Yet—

“Veronica.” The dark-eyed devil sat across from her on her bed, speaking her name like the softest silk. His hair was messy and was going every which way. His grin was stretched wide. It would have been funny if not for the circumstances. His trench coat was dark enough to hide the stains, and big enough to hide the concealed weapon she suspected laid inside. “ _Ver-ron-i-ca_ ,” he drew out again.

Veronica sighed. She shouldn’t be amused, yet she felt the too familiar tendrils of warmth sneak into her chest regardless. “J.D., what are you doing?”

She hoped her question would make him stop, but he only laughed instead. “Saying your name, obviously. To get your attention.” In response, she shot him an irritable look. “Besides, it’s a lovely name,” J.D. said defensively. “It’s four syllables, which is a bit odd. Most parents only name their kids one or two. Don’t want to put in the extra effort every time they want to call for their kid, y’know? Or they want to keep things nice and simple so the kid doesn’t look stupid trying to write their own name.”

Without thinking, she blurted, “Like J.D.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Like J.D.,” he agreed with a slight bitterness. It didn’t seem directed at her, though.

“I like the name Jason Dean,” Veronica said. “It’s catchy.”

His smile was soft like a bed of cotton with thorns underneath. “So, if you had a kid, you wouldn’t mind naming him Jason Dean Jr.?”

Veronica snorted, giving him a look she hoped was convincing enough. _Like she used to_. “If I had a kid it would not be a boy.”

“Jason Dean Jr. the girl, then.”

At that moment, he looked like any other stupid 17 year-old boy. The butterflies she thought she had shoved away long ago resurfaced at the edges. Veronica looked away, wishing the smile on her face would go away. “Shut up.”

“Your kid would have your smile,” J.D. said. He moved to hold her face, stroking gently. “Just as witty and smart as you, I’d hope. Maybe she would have her father’s eyes, whoever the hell that would be,” he scoffed, smiling sadly. “God help us all if she was anything like me.”

Veronica fell quiet at his remark. She eased into his weight (to not set him off. To keep herself safe. She was doing this to protect herself.She was doing this to fix him, to—She didn’t—she wasn’t...) She let out a weary breath, shutting her eyes. He held her close, close enough she could feel the beat of his heart against her head (she wished her first thought wasn’t of Ram’s still, bloodied chest.)

This was wrong. He murdered people. He lied. And all without a tinge of regret. Someone like that wasn’t capable of love. He said he wouldn’t do it again, but in the end, did it even matter? (for _her_. He killed for her. He wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t for her. It was her fault he was like this. She enabled him. She shouldn’t have—)

“I don’t think I want kids,” Veronica whispered.

J.D. was silent. At first, she thought that her confession pissed him off and he was giving her the silent treatment. But his hold remained gentle around her. His forefinger lovingly tapped her shoulder in that strange methodical pattern he always did. Like a heartbeat. Like a clock.

Veronica looked up at him. His face was shrouded in the stark moonlight, creating strange shadows that crossed his face. He was looking out her bedroom window that overlooked her backyard. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. She followed his gaze. Nothing was out there, except grass and a background of trees. With an uneasy feeling crawling up her chest, she couldn’t help but wonder what he was looking at, or was looking _for_.

“...I don’t want kids either,” J.D. admitted, perfectly even.

She found herself swallowing. “Good,” she said. Because it was. It was a good thing.

He only nodded slowly. That meticulous finger continued it’s march in that odd pattern, not breaking for a moment: _Tick_. _Tick_. _Tick_. “Good.”

“J.D., I...” Her brows furrowed, looking into that shadowy blasé expression: hidden, vague, entirely non-revealing to her. She realized with a mild horror she couldn’t read his face anymore (if she was ever really able to.) “...I love you,” Veronica said, marveling at how easy—how simple those three words used to come. Yet tonight she wasn’t sure if she meant it—if she was allowed to mean it. It was hard to tell what was the truth anymore.

He let out a breath, which might have been a laugh. He didn’t know either, yet his words were spoken without a moment of hesitation. “I love you, too, Veronica Sawyer.”


End file.
